


Salt on your Skin

by ashinan smut (ashinan)



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Clothing Kink, Glove Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 16:15:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashinan/pseuds/ashinan%20smut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q really wants to be naked right now, but Bond won’t let him open the damn door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salt on your Skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soddingwankers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soddingwankers/gifts).



> Written for my lovely Emily one night while we were doing a Porn Trade. She requested 00Q with a leather glove kink. Heeee.

They fall against the door, Bond shoving a knee between Q’s thighs. Q’s glasses sit askew on his nose, and it wouldn’t surprise him if they were digging painful little ridges into Bond’s cheekbone. Granted, it’s hard to think about that when Bond has both hands down the back of his pants, gloved fingers splayed wide over his ass in a possessive hold. He jerks forward when Bond squeezes, and Bond swallows his moan.

His fingers slide up into Bond’s hair, trying to get a grip, and Bond yanks him tight, pressing his thigh against Q’s hard cock. Q stutters out a breath and Bond fucks his mouth with his tongue, lewd and precise. He’s overheating in his parka, scarf scratching uncomfortable against this throat, but Bond doesn’t seem to care. Those damnable gloves massage over his skin, thumbs sliding down the crease of his ass.

He really wants to be naked right now, but Bond won’t let him open the damn door.

Finally, he gets a good grip on Bond’s short hair and yanks his head back. “This would be far more enjoyable inside, I assure you.”

“But we have a perfectly serviceable door right here,” Bond says, hiding his grin against the sensitive curl of Q’s ear. Q shudders, tilting his head to the side. Bond lips at it, before taking the lobe between his teeth and biting. Q jerks, the gasp punched right out of him, and Bond leans back. “Perhaps we should go indoors. I wouldn’t want to embarrass the neighbours.”

“Yes, as my neighbours sensibilities are priority at this very moment.” Q releases Bond, adjusting his glasses. Bond grips his ass again, and Q clutches at his shoulders. “Bond.”

“Come now, Q, show me your magnificent multitasking skills.” Bond steps back, releases him completely, and Q shudders at the loss. He glares at Bond over his glasses, and the infuriating agent just smiles back, all teeth.

Turning, he digs into his pocket, fingers clumsy over the keys. Bond slots up behind him, hands slipping easily under his coat and into the dip of his pants. The gloves feel foreign against his skin, and the keys slip against the lock. Bond massages his fingers just over the line of Q’s cock, and Q leans his forehead against the door, a soft moan fluttering over his tongue.

Bond bites gently at the back of his neck, where the scarf dips too low. Q jams the key into the lock, hands shaking so hard he can barely twist the knob. He opens the door and Bond follows him in, closing it with the toe of his shoe. He still hasn’t released Q, fingers bold and worming under the waistband of his underwear. He stutters out a breath at the touch of leather against his aching cock.

“Bond –”

“James, Q. Decorum has no place here.”

Q glares at the far wall, wrapping long fingers around Bond’s wrist. His back arches when Bond closes his other hand over Q’s cock, leather tight and hot all around him. He can’t breathe through the heat of his jacket and scarf, and he’s unable to focus enough to rip the damnable thing off. Bond moves his hand lower, until his gloved fingers are tight around the base of Q’s cock. Q pants into the open air.

“Come along, Q,” Bond whispers, knocking his knees against the back of Q’s, driving him forward until he’s pressed against the wall. “You can’t be comfortable in that coat.”

“Stop distracting me,” Q manages. He struggles to get his fingers around the zipper, and Bond helps him by stroking his cock lazily. Q presses his forehead against the wall. “That isn’t helping.”

“On the contrary. Look.” Bond guides Q’s hand down with the zipper, helping him shrug the coat off and tosses it beside them. The scarf falls next and Q feels naked without it. Bond nuzzles the back of his ear, teeth fitting over the rim and Q nearly bangs his nose off the wall. Bond’s mouth leaves and Q can’t help the pitiful whine.

“Let’s make this more comfortable,” Bond says, releasing his cock completely. Q slaps a palm against the wall in surprise, and Bond works at the buttons of his cardigan.

“My trousers are easier to remove, I assure you,” Q gripes, fingers flexing.

Bond tsks behind him, kissing his neck. He gets the last button undone, peeling the cardigan off of him, and then goes for the topmost button of his shirt. Q’s infinitely glad that he forwent a tie today, grinding his ass back against Bond in hopes of spurring him on. Not to be deterred, Bond kicks Q’s legs wider, and runs his open palm over Q’s chest. The leather catches on his nipples and Q hisses, teeth clenched sharp. Bond continues popping buttons, other hand working Q’s chest over. By the time the last button slips free, Q’s chest feels sore and sensitive, body flinching at every brush of leather over peaked nipples.

Bond’s hand drifts lower, tugging his pants open and shoving back inside without warning. Q shouts, back bowing as Bond strokes him tight and fast. The leather doesn’t move well until Bond palms the head of his cock, smearing thick precome down the shaft, repeating over and over until Q feels filthy with it. He jerks against Bond’s motions, body shivering. Each movement presses him against Bond’s clothed cock, and fuck, he wants to be more naked than this. A pitiful whine escapes him when Bond breathes sharp against his ear.

The leather touch against his chest moves steadily upward, until Q has Bond’s fingers wrapped loose around his throat. He pushes against it, gasps when Bond’s hand tightens incrementally. Bond moans and Q can feel it like a punch to the gut. He shifts his hips back, groaning in frustration at the barrier between them.

“You’re impatient tonight,” Bond remarks. Q doesn’t respond, instead starts rocking his hips. Bond stills the hand around his cock, letting him fuck the leather, letting him smear it with his own precome. The thought sends a shiver of sensation up his spine and he wants that, wants Bond’s gorgeous leather gloves to smell of Q, to be ruined by Q.

Tingling starts in his lower spine and Bond starts jacking him again, tight and slow. It’s too much, the sensation ripping through him. Q sobs as he comes, throat working against the tight press of Bond’s fingers around his throat, against the hot presence of Bond’s cock just inches from his wanting hole. He jerks and shakes with it and Bond milks him through it. When the sensation becomes too much he stills his hips and Bond releases him.

“Like I said,” Bond lifts his hand, leather covered in Q’s come, “impatient. Now you’ve gone and ruined my gloves.”

Q’s lips part and Bond bites behind his ear, lips whisper soft over his skin. Bond releases his throat, palm sliding down until he’s holding onto Q’s hip. Q’s hand snaps up until he’s holding Bond’s wrist, pressing those wet fingers against his lips.

The heady taste of leather and come makes him moan. He sucks desperately, tongue curling around each seam and stitch, memorizing the smell and the taste, getting the leather as wet as he can. He wants those fingers in him, wants Bond to fuck him with his gloves on and his coat still buttoned. He grinds his hips back and Bond grabs a handful of pants and underwear, tugging it down until Q’s ass is bared.

“Hurry up, Q. This is all you’ll get.”

Q nods, saliva flooding his mouth as he soaks the leather through. When Bond deems them wet enough, he slides his fingers from Q’s lips, dragging them over Q’s working throat before lifting Q’s ass with a hand.

Bond slides the leather over his hole and Q twitches, cock swelling under him. The gloves fit snug over Bond’s fingers, custom Italian make, and Q can feel every stitch along the sensitive curl of his hole, just as he had in his mouth. He waits, aching for something, anything, and when Bond finally presses a finger into him, Q rocks back against it hungrily. It feels cold and rough, slick with come and spit. Q already feels filthy, cock leaking at just the touch of leather against his hole.

He wants more of that, wants Bond to shove him three fingers full, fuck him hard and fast with his gloves. Pull those fingers free and slam his cock inside. Maybe, when Q’s come again, he’ll put two fingers in alongside his cock, stuff him up until he can barely breathe through the sensation. He finds his own fingers in his mouth, tongue curling wet around the skin. He moans when Bond gets another finger in him.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” Bond says, chuckling. He’s breathless though, not unaffected, and Q sucks on his fingers harder. “Should I be jealous, Q?”

“ _James_ ,” Q says, words muffled.

Bond gets that third finger in him and it’s euphoric, a punch of sensation that leaves him panting. His cock smears against his stomach, bobbing with each thrust of Bond’s hand. The feeling alone is enough to get him off, he knows this, and he contemplates letting Bond finger him open and loose, having him come a second time, and then using him for whatever pleasure Bond requires. He moans at the thought, clenching around Bond’s fingers, desperate to feel their movements fuck him raw. Bond’s fingers still.

“Had enough, Q?”

“Don’t you dare,” Q gasps. Bond laughs, licks a strip up the back of his neck to his ear, and removes his fingers. Q lets his hand fall from his mouth, bracing himself against the wall instead.

The sound of Bond’s zipper being lowered makes Q rock back. Bond’s coat brushes over his bare skin and he can’t believe that Bond’s still fully dressed. There’s a snap of a lid, the squelch of lube.

“Ah!” Q jerks forward at the sloppy mess of lube that drizzles directly onto his hole. It’s cold and slick, warming quickly when Bond pushes the mess into him with leathered fingers. He feels wet and puffy, already used and not fucked enough. Bond massages the lube in, slicks more around his hole until he’s dripping with it, and then pulls his fingers free again.

The heavy touch of Bond’s cock against Q’s hole has Q panting, aching so much for the stretch and burn of Bond fucking him. He mouths the words, breathes, “Fuck me, James, do it. Do it.” His fists curl loose against the wall as Bond lines up. When he finally pushes in, stretching the rim wide, fucking him open on his thick cock, Q sobs with it.

Q thrusts his ass back in hopes of getting more, clutching desperately at what he already has. It stretches him huge, Bond moving slow to both give him time to adjust and drive him crazy. Bond pulls all the way out, cock catching on the rim before slipping in, and Q keens, desperation thrumming through his body at the touch. He wants Bond to fuck him, to hold him down and make him scream. He tilts his hips, shoves his ass up, and Bond slides all the way home.

They both groan, Q stuffed full and heavy. His glasses slip down the bridge of his nose, but he’s too focused on the feel of Bond’s cock to adjust them. Bond slips his hands under Q’s shirt, dragging rough down the arch of his spine and along the heavy dip of his hips. His thumbs dig into the crease of Q’s ass, right where his shirt rides up, and he spreads him open, bearing him for Bond’s scrutiny.  

“You look good like this, Q,” Bond says, hoarse. Q swallows, panting against the wall. Bond brushes leather clad thumbs over where they meet and Q’s fist thumps against the wall. “So tight and wanting.”

Bond widens his stance, draws back, and slams back into him, thumbs pressed hard against the stretched furl of his hole. Q wails, the sensation knocking the air from his lungs, and his glasses clatter to the carpet. Q scrambles for a hold, Bond fucking him steadily now.  His shirt sticks to his lower back, and along his shoulder blades, hot and stifling with the burning heat of Bond behind him.

Those leather gloves slide away from his hole, dragging up and around his hips. He breathes out a moan as Bond slips his hands lower, bracketing Q’s hard cock. That first touch of leather and Q knows he’ll be gone. He focuses on the heavy thrusts he can feel all the way to his toes, and when Bond finally wraps tight fingers around his cock, Q arches up with a shout.

Bond yanks him close, chest to back, and jerks him off as his thrusts increase. The leather is still slick with lube, gliding over Q’s cock until Q can barely take it anymore. He grabs Bond’s wrist, biting his lip and throwing his head back. Bond tightens his hold, thumbs under the head on the next upstroke.

Q comes, crying out loud enough for the neighbours to hear. He splatters the walls in front of him and that leather glove again. Bond pounds him through it, thrusts aimed to prolong, and Q can barely keep up anymore. He clenches and writhes, moaning his pleasure, a litany of Bond’s name and a plea for more. Bond slams hard into him, rotates his hips, and comes hot and messy.

The sensation leaves Q feeling fucked open and wet. Bond bites marks into the junction of his neck and shoulder, leathered fingers tight against Q’s hip. Q rolls his head to the side, nudging Bond up and kissing him sloppy until the shakes stop. Bond drags the come soaked glove up his stomach, smearing it over his nipples and against the arched line of his throat.

Q can barely keep his legs straight, palm curling into a fist against the wall. Bond eases out of him, and Q trembles with that, gasps in surprise when Bond drags a finger through his own come and presses it back inside. “You look good tonight, Q.”

There’s nothing he can say to that, instead focusing on the soft touches, the way Bond gently shifts his finger around inside before pulling it free. He taps against Q’s puffy hole and Q jerks forward, teeth finding his bottom lip. He feels fucked out and oversensitive to every touch. Bond rubs against him, fingers so slick, and Q contemplates just lying against the wall and letting Bond use him.

Bond grins against his neck as though he can sense Q’s thoughts and cups Q’s softening cock. Q gives up on making it to the bed tonight.  

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on [my tumblr](http://ashinan.tumblr.com/post/65266703259/)!


End file.
